The Last Vampire on Earth ?? | OC x Lestat | Interview with the Vampire

The Rescue

I sometimes pictured the notes, all strung together in their respective order, slithering away down a rabbit hole. Going where? I had not worked that out yet.

I pondered that thought again and before i knew it it was a different day.

As i screwed my eyes up, realising how they burned, i glanced out of the same window i witnessed the events unfold hours before.

Yet this time there was no Lestat, no Nicky, no powerful master... now there was only the reflection of the rising sun on the cobblestoned road.

I stood as i placed my painting tools down.

I turned my head to the side as i glanced at my work. The two men certainly were works of art... Lestat in particular.

After walking him to his lover i had managed to see his expression up close, seen the way his eyebrows moved to show his emotions... seen how his eyes filled with light when he thought about his Nicky.

I shook my head to stop from thinking about the two. Instead i took the painting off the easel and walked it over to my wall of finished art.

I had made a collection to sell and a collection to keep.

I pondered on where to place this piece. It was the most detailed portrait i had painted in a while. I only painted canvas's like this one when i had a chance to meet the people in them- it was the only way to see them up close...The only way to have any chance at translating their thoughts and expressions into my work.

Yet i always sold them.

However i did not want to sell this one.

Something about the blonde vampires gaze locking onto the brunettes made this piece feel too personal... too special. I felt as if I shouldn't even own it. This was not my love story, it was theirs.

So i placed the canvas behind one of my others, leaning against the wall of the room.

As i covered it up with another of my work i suddenly remembered the piece i was painting just before i started the romantic scene i had seen out of my window.

I screwed my eyebrows up in confusion as i tried to remember what i was painting. I moved a few older pieces out of the way before i found it.

I placed it onto the easel before i took a step back to examine it.

Slowly i began to recognise the face, i began to realise who it was i had unintentionally painted- who i started painting before i had even met.

Looking straight at me was the face of Lestat.

I had painted him to look regal thinking of the image in my head as maybe some type of royalty. I had seen the face often in my head, i had thought about finally painting it for weeks... before i finally started it, only for him to show up outside my window.

The man in my painting was not a face i had made up, imaged to give myself something to paint.

It was Lestat de lioncout and i hadn't even known.

_____________

I gasped as i sat up in my bed.

After a minute i threw the covers off me before i walked over to my window. I realised that the light had not long since left the sky... it was night again.

Lestat had tossed me into a strange sleeping schedule through the events prior, but my sleep had allowed me to come up with some real explanation for my painting.

I wrapped my sleeping gown around me before i walked to the room next door. My artist studio.

It had ment to be a second bedroom, it was before I moved in, but i knew i would never have a use for it. Who did i have that would occupy it?

I walked over to the painting, the half done portrait of Lestat's face that had confused me earlier, and i sighed.

I saw it now.

I didn't know how i didn't see it before, but the man had the exact same expression as on the posters in the village. I hadn't just imaged a man that looked like Lestat- i had unknowingly recalled it.

I let out a breath. But the feeling of being on edge did not leave me.

Instead i got dressed and headed back into the studio. I needed to finish the painting in order to give myself some calm.

I threw my hair up and stuck an extra paint brush inside of it, then i got to work.

It only took me three hours in total to finish the painting. I had since met the man i now painted and i had witnessed the shadows which hit his face, just the way i saw my other muses. But in them i never saw the way their eyes would tell you they knew more then you ever would about the world, without even opening their mouths, with Lestat de Lioncourt that was exactly the haunting realisation i had drawn.

It felt like a regular painting session, painting an old friend or a lost family member, like usual. But as i stepped away from the image I realised one thing about the painting was entirely different- something caused me to take a step away from the eyes that met mine when i glanced at my work... something that put me on edge.

I hadn't been listening to music, I hadn't been listening to anything at all. The only sound in the room was my own breathing... I had never not painted to music before...

As I contemplated why, I couldn't seem to look away from Lestats perfectly painted eyes. I had painted them full of the love he felt for his Nicky and the confusion he felt when he looked at me after tasting my blood.

It was just the portrait and i. We seemed like the last two awake in Paris.

Shaking my head i grabbed the painting down from the easel and leaned it against the wall with the others.

It was nothing, ment nothing, it was just like my other paintings... it didn't mean anything different.

I needed a break, yes that was it. I had been painting almost every hour for the last 24 excluding the time i was asleep.

I ran my hand down my face before i went to untie my apron, the same way i did every day after a painting session.

But as i looked towards the door i let out a quiet gasp.

As if appearing out of nowhere a man now stood looking at me with a face full of an emotion i could not recognise.

I stumbled backwards a bit, not scared, just shocked.

He didn't say a word as he walked into the room.

He didn't say a word until he stoped in front of my latest painting...